In Spring 2009 I was in Washington DC, performing in the re-mount of the Goodman’s King Lear starring Stacy Keach, directed by Bob Falls. I’m proud of that show, and it’s deservedly famous. But it was pretty damn dark.

My writing world was pretty dark, too. I’d just finished a draft of a novel called Colossus about the Roman/Jewish wars of the first century. Now in DC, I was rooming with my old pal Steve Pickering, whom I was helping with an adaptation of the grisly sci-fi novella Diamond Dogs.

Man, I needed a laugh. So I thought I’d write one.

Now, all my stories are inspired by gaps. Negative space. Holes in stories we think we know. I started my first novel, The Master Of Verona, to explore the origin of the Capulet-Montague feud. Colossus was the space between the death of Christ and the birth of Christianity.

To me, one great unexplored gap was Shakespeare’s ‘Lost Years’, the eight years after he left Stratford but before he appeared as a playwright.

I’d read Stephen Greenblatt’s fantastic Will In The World. I’d also read Park Honan’s Christopher Marlowe: Poet & Spy. On a lark I picked up Elizabeth’s Spy Master, Robert Hutchinson’s biography of Sir Francis Walsingham. And all at once I had my story.

The inspiration went like this:
Marlowe was a spy. What if Shakespeare was a spy?
What if Shakespeare and Marlowe were spies together?
What if Shakespeare and Marlowe were spies together, and really bad at it?

Suddenly it was a Hope-Crosby Road Movie starring young Shakespeare and young Marlowe, brilliantly bumbling their way through a world of Elizabethan espionage. Only there was no need for a love interest, because Marlowe would be chasing Will the whole time! And Will? Well, read his body of work (especially his sonnets) and you get a sense that he was, shall we say, a lover of the world?

For the story I settled on The Babington Plot, the trap that sent Mary, Queen of Scots to the axe. Thanks to a chance meeting with a ‘dark lady’, our hero Will is dragged by the wily Kit into a ridiculous plot to save Queen Elizabeth that ends with them being hunted by Catholic rebels, Spanish agents, London scum, and Elizabeth’s own men!

As I wrote, I set myself a challenge – I was not allowed to contradict anything in the historical record. Everything I wrote had to fit the facts as we know them. More, my cast had to be real people – not the nobility, whom we see depicted all the time. No, I wanted the thieves, villains, and fools of London, the dregs of society. You know – theater people.

The first chapters wrote themselves, and Steve posted them on his Shanghai Low blog. Then Lear ended, I went home, and the project was shelved for a couple years. Which seems to be how I work – I’ll write the first third of a novel, then leave it to stew for years before coming back and finishing it in a rush.

In 2011, once more in need of a good laugh, I dusted off the manuscript and finished it in three delight-filled months. In addition to laughing, I found myself crafting a couple moments of heartfelt honesty. All an author can hope for.

That summer was my wife Janice’s second year as the Artistic Director of the Michigan Shakespeare Festival. She hired Robert Kauzlaric to direct the MSF’s production of Tartuffe, a decision that was equal parts shrewd business and fond nostalgia. We had first met Rob in a production of Tartuffe at City Lit, where Jan, Rob, Rob’s wife Elise, and I had shared the stage with Don Bender, as well as the late and sorely-missed Page Hearn and Will Schutz, all under the direction of Kevin Theis. It was one of ‘those’ shows, the ones where you delight both your audiences and yourselves. Jan and I discovered part of our Chicago theater family in that production. Years later Elise and I would both be in the Goodman’s Lear.

Rob, of course, was a longtime ensemble member and playwright at Lifeline Theatre. After a couple years at MSF, Jan made him an Artistic Associate there too. Each February they road trip to Detroit for auditions, and on the car ride they play Pinky and the Brain, plotting the takeover of the world. Or so I imagine.

Four years ago, out of thin air, Rob said, “I’d love to adapt one of David’s books, but they’re all so epic! I just don’t see doing them justice.”

Jan replied with a laugh. “Have you read Her Majesty’s Will?”

He hadn’t. He did. The moment he closed the cover he pitched it to his fellow ensemble members at Lifeline.

Which is how, eight years after my desire to laugh, Her Majesty’s Will is poised to bring a laugh to a world in desperate need of one. It feels like serendipity. Stacy Keach is once more in town to collaborate with Bob Falls. The audiobook of Colossus came out last fall, read by Brian Gill, who was also in that Lear. Just a few months ago the House produced Diamond Dogs, starring Christopher Hainsworth – the director of Her Majesty’s Will. Don Bender, who was in that long-ago Tartuffe, is playing Walsingham, Elizabeth’s Spy-Master.

And me? I was astonished when Lifeline asked me to direct the fights for the show. I immediately called Hainsworth and said, “Chris, you don’t really want me in the room, do you? The author?”

“No,” replied Hainsworth. “I want you the fight director. Because the author saddled us with a lot of fights.” He paused. “We’re keeping the bear-baiting.”

“I’m in.”

He wasn’t kidding about the number of fights in Her Majesty’s Will. Rob has kept every fight from the novel, which means there are nine distinct sections of combat, most involving four or more people. Each night before the show the actors have a fight call to prepare. Even for violence-heavy shows, most fight-calls last fifteen minutes. The fight call for HMW lasts forty.

Chris gave over the first whole week of rehearsal to choreographing the violence. Which meant I had to hit the ground running.

Being a fight director on a comedy is always an interesting challenge. Like every other aspect of a play, violence is best when it tells a specific story. In a drama or tragedy, that’s fairly straightforward. But in a comedy, it’s about finding the right balance of tone. As they say, “Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.”

One example – in Act One of HMW, there’s a nine-person tavern brawl. For the first iteration of the fight, I leaned hard into the comedy (one actor was making himself a sandwich while sword-fighting). After a week or so, Chris decided it wasn’t quite the right story – we had lost threat of the villains. So, with just a few adjustments, the fight became more desperate. There’s still humor, but the threat remains palpable. The fight maintains the tension, while the laughs burst in to briefly relieve it.

A lot of which is due to the actors more than me. Many excellent fight directors come in with all the moves mapped out in advance. I prefer to see what the actors bring to it. No two people move the same. Every actor has their own set of skills, and the best fights capitalize on them to tell the story.

Then there’s the fun of working on a new script. As Chris has watched the show take shape, he’s added or subtracted elements of the violence to better tell his story. Meanwhile Rob’s been altering the script, in some cases with major revisions, as the needs of this story become clearer. Often fights changed for the script, or for tech, or simple clarity. But every once in a while it went the other way, the fights birthing a few new lines, and even one running joke. It’s great having that much flexibility and collaborative spirit in the room, where every idea is valued. Until it comes time to murder your darlings.

Thus I’ve had the unique experience of being part of the process all the way along. Rob kept the script out of my hands for as long as he could – at the fight auditions the actors had read more of the play than I had – but I can say with honesty I’m delighted. Rob and Chris and the ensemble have crafted a fast-moving, hilarious romp through the ribald underbelly of Elizabethan theater, so like Chicago’s own.

And in between the laughs, there are a few moments of heartfelt honesty. All an author can ask for.

In the blog post Inside Her Majesty’s Will Part One: Adapting the NovelRobert Kauzlaric started to address some of the challenges of adapting the novel for the stage, particularly the adding of a Chorus to help share Will’s inner thoughts with the audience. As is often the case with adapting a novel, this was only one of many changes that occurred between the page and stage. Many factors play into what stays and what gets left behind, but luckily author David Blixt was understanding and supportive of the process of bringing these characters and their story to the live theatre. Outlined below are a few such things to look out for if you are already familiar with Blixt’s version of the story – along with some historical tidbits as well.

Due to the practicalities and casting for this show, a few characters were cut before the script even made it to the rehearsal room. Many were minor characters that our young heroes come across in passing. For example, in the book Dick Tarlton is accompanied by his protégé, Robert Armin, who was in fact his successor both on the stage and in court, but he has been omitted from the play since he doesn’t significantly impact the story. Walter Williams, Walsingham’s “right hand man” in the book, was consolidated into the character of Phelippes in the play to avoid confusion among Walsingham’s minions and to create a more solidified character for a certain twist in the story. Although both were in Sir Francis’ employ, Phelippes is the more noted of the two as Walsingham’s cryptographer and forger and he played the larger part in the plot against Mary Stuart. The interaction with the local bumbling sheriff was also cut since it stalled the momentum of the play at a point where it needed to focus on other developments.

The two most notable absences in the play are of Thomas Watson and Shakespeare’s father. Watson was one of the famed “University Wits,” an informal group of university-educated dramatists in the 1580s that immediately preceded Shakespeare’s writing fame. They never referred to themselves by this name, but were given it as historians tried to identify some of the most important pre-Shakespearian influences. While Watson plays an important part in deciphering Kit’s coded message in the book, his presence is absent from the play (although many of his contributions toward moving the plot forward survive in the mouths of the other Wits). His name, however, is mentioned so as not to be forgotten as a contributor to this lively bunch of men. Shakespeare’s father is an influential, but complicated character in the book – one that drives much of Will’s actions, though he is only seen briefly near the end of the story. All the factors that drive Will from his home that are tied to his father – his father’s drinking, his decent into poverty, and family shame – are present in the stage version, but their complicated relationship is conveyed to the live audience by Will’s father’s intentional absence.

Condensing a novel to a stage production also means that time constraints make it necessary to pare the story down to its base elements, therefore quite a few fun and beloved plot points get glossed over as opening night of the production looms near. During this process there were structural changes that happened before rehearsals began, but there were also moments that the production team really did try to include in the stage performance, but alas ended up on the cutting room floor. This is particularly true for the two instances of betrayal that happen in Blixt’s book.

The first betrayal was between Kit and Will when Kit leverages his knowledge of Will’s background to Sir Francis Walsingham. The play moves at such a quick pace, covering only about a week (compared to multiple weeks in the book), that there wasn’t enough time to address the aftermath of such an event, nor to earn the subsequent reconciliation.

The second betrayal was by Em Ball. While it added complexity and an obstacle for our heroes to overcome in the book (and nodded to the historic Em’s reputation), it played against some of Kauzlaric’s hopes for the character on stage. He wanted Em to be an equal part of the troop that hangs out with the Kit at the White Hart, capable of holding her own with the educated men and full of her own valiant desire to save her queen. Aware of the limited representation that women have in this play, Kauzlaric felt it was important to show a brave, loyal, and proactive woman of the lower classes.

There were smaller bits that were lost along the way as well. For example, horse-stealing shenanigans were included in the play until rehearsals were moved into the playing space, as was the suggestion of a past relationship between Kit and Hank Evans. Scenes like the performance of The Spanish Tragedie, the Wits’ debate over England’s greatest king (or queen), and Kit and Will’s extensive travels have been cut significantly since the first draft. Also, while a working draft of the play at one time contained allusions to (nearly) all of Shakespeare’s plays, due to cuts and changes, many had to be lost along the way. There are still quite a few to be found for the attentive audience member.

Although these changes and omissions could be viewed as a loss to the story Blixt originally conceived, it is important to remember that literature and performance are very different mediums. While one structure and pace is better suited to the page, the essence and spirit of the tale is still alive and well in the staged version. We hope you bear this in mind as you “gently hear and kindly judge our play.”

Note: This is a guest posting from Annaliese McSweeney, dramaturg for our Summer MainStage production of Her Majesty’s Will.

In the delightful world created by David Blixt in Her Majesty’s Will, from which Robert Kauzlaric’s play is adapted, the rich and colorful characters stand out among the descriptive writing. Perhaps the reason these characters feel so alive and fleshed out is because they were all based on real life nobles, playwrights, and rogues (with the exception of two smaller characters, Rookwood and Higgins). Although Blixt admits that he took certain liberties with historical accuracy and filled in many blanks with his own fancy, he sees this more as a “bending of the truth” rather than ever outright breaking it. True to the spirit in which the book was written, Kauzlaric’s play features and highlights many of the real life personalities Blixt introduced to us.

Here’s a run-down of the historic characters and what are known to be the facts of their lives. Let’s meet our players.

Kit MarloweBorn just a few months before William Shakespeare, Marlowe’s flamboyant and unpredictable nature was legendary. His schooling at Cambridge was riddled with speculation and mysterious extended absences that led to the rumors that he was working for Sir Francis Walsingham as a spy. He was only allowed to receive his degree after the Privy Council sent a letter in his defense citing an unspecified service for Her Majesty, the queen. In London, he associated with contemporary writers, wrote plays, and was credited as the leader of what would eventually be called University Wits. He would go on to become one of the leading tragedians of his day and one of Shakespeare’s most important predecessors. His play, Tamburlaine, is among the first of English plays to be written in blank verse. It, along with The Spanish Tragedy, is considered the beginning of the mature phase of Elizabethan theatre. His plays are known for their overreaching protagonists and broadly heroic themes, but he also displayed dexterity with the ability to approach great tragedy from multiple, complex perspectives. His reputation as a playwright was undeniable, but his personal life was complicated. Later in life, Marlowe was formally accused of being a heretic and a sodomite, which were both punishable by death in Elizabethan England.

John Lyly
Lyly graduated from Oxford and became the private secretary to Edward de Vere, a significant patron of the arts. During this time he earned a reputation as a noted wit. Both of his novels, Euphues, or The Anatomy of Wit (1578) and its sequel, Euphues and his England (1580), were immediately popular and for a while Lyly was one of the most fashionable and successful writers in England. He was known for his comedic prose, lively dialogue, and precise use of word placement. These traits of his writing are seen as a primary influence on Shakespeare’s romantic comedies. Lyly later turned his attention to playwriting in an attempt to get appointed as the Master of Revels (who reviewed all the plays prior to performance in Elizabethan England).

Robert Greene
Greene was one of the earliest English writers to support himself at a time professional authorship was virtually unknown. A graduate of Cambridge and awarded and honorary degree from Oxford, Greene was an early adversary of Shakespeare due to his lack of formal education. (He actually called Shakespeare an “upstart cow” in one of his published works.) In his personal life, however, Greene associated with a slew of underground criminals, whom he often wrote about in his commercial pamphlets. Cutting Ball, a notorious cut-purse was a supposed close friend and his sister, Em Ball, was rumored to have been Green’s mistress and mother of his son. His writing displays a fantastic linguistic capability, grounded in the extensive knowledge of the classics combined with contemporary understanding of modern languages.

Helena of SnakenborgHelena was a Swedish noblewoman who came to England on a state visit with Princess Cecilia. Queen Elizabeth and Helena developed a friendship despite their difference in age, and she appointed Helena as a Maid of Honor in her court and later as a gentlewoman in the privy chamber (an attendant to the queen in her private quarters). Helena became one of Queen Elizabeth’s most intimate and trusted aides, often controlling access to the queen. With her marriage and the subsequent death of her husband, Helena inherited the title of Marchioness, making her the fourth senior peeress in the country, behind the queen’s cousins. After her second marriage, Helena became the queen’s deputy, often attending baptisms of noble’s children and other lesser ceremonial events in the queen’s stead. She was also the chief mourner at the queen’s funeral procession.

Sir Francis WalsinghamWalsingham was born into a well-connected family of gentry and attended good schools. Along with hundreds of Protestants, he went into exile after the coronation of Mary I and lived abroad studying law in Italy and becoming fluent in Italian and French. After his return to England, Waslingham entered into the service of William Cecil, Queen Elizabeth’s principle secretary, performing confidential tasks for the minister. He soon took over a small network of secret agents Cecil had established and was appointed to the Privy Council. He was made a principle secretary. As secretary, he handled all royal correspondence to foreign ambassadors and determined the agenda of council meetings. He wielded great influence in all matters of policy and in every field of government. Queen Elizabeth clearly valued his loyalty, dedication to her security, and unvarnished counsel. Notoriously sparing with her honors for public servants, Walsingham was one of the few exceptions and was knighted in 1577.

Walsingham is best known for his legacy as the creator of an extensive intelligence network. He employed double agents, informants, experts on codes and ciphers, experts in the art of lifting a wax seal so a letter could be opened undetected, and he promoted covert propaganda, disinformation, and agents provocateurs as he sought to gather and master as much information as possible concerning government administration, economics, and practical politics at home and abroad. He secured his informants through bribery, veiled threats, and subtle psychological gambits. He often paid for intelligence with his own money. His network of spies and informants that spanned France, Scotland, the Low Countries, Spain, Italy, and even Turkey and North Africa. Walsingham was and continues to be seen as a pioneer in intelligence methods and as a seminal figure in the British secret service. His wide-ranging education and experience mixed with his psychological shrewdness were perfectly suited for this role. He would use this network to spend nearly 20 years trying to bring down Mary Stuart, whom he saw, along with the Spanish, as the biggest threat to the English crown.

John Savage
John Savage served in the Army of the Duke of Parma and was a courageous and zealous Roman Catholic. When he met a few conspirators of the Babington Plot, he volunteered his services, proving to be a valuable ally. He was one of the six nominated to assassinate Queen Elizabeth so that Mary could take the crown and he swore an oath to do so.

Sir Thomas Lucy
A knighted noble, Lucy sat two sessions of Parliament, was a justice of the queen’s peace, and an ardent hunter of recusants (Catholic dissenters). He became high sheriff of the Warwickshire in 1586. Shakespeare is said to have later satirized him in Henry IV, Part 2 and The Merry Wives of Windsor with the character of Justice Shallow.

Thomas Phelippes
Phelippes was a linguist with a genius for deciphering letters, recruited by Walsingham. He could speak French, Italian, Spanish, Latin, and German and attended Walsingham’s spy school that taught cipher and forgery among other things. Phelippes soon became Walsingham’s assistant and England’s first cryptanalyst. He also created forgeries and gathered secret correspondence. He is most remembered for his forgery of the “bloody postscript” that ensnared Mary Stuart in the end. Later in life Phelippes’ employment with the government was sporadic and he struggled with debt, but even in prison he was sometimes sent coded letters to decipher by William Cecil.

Gilbert Gifford
Gilbert was a Catholic double agent who played a significant role in the Babington Plot. He came from a well-known Catholic family in Staffordshire. He was admired in school for his intellectual abilities, but was perceived to have a deceitful character and was later expelled due to unknown circumstances. While abroad in France, he met John Savage, who was embroiled in the plot against Queen Elizabeth and who vowed to carry out her assassination. Shortly thereafter he returned to England, was arrested, and turned by Walsingham to serve as a double agent. Back in Paris, he got a letter of recommendation to place him in Mary Stuart’s household and to set the wheels in motion for her entrapment. Over the next few months he made many visits between Paris and England and became well acquainted with other Catholic co-conspirators. Before the plot came to fruition, he fled England and both sides suspected him of treachery, and his true loyalties were never quite certain.

Dick TarltonRichard Tarlton was an English actor, Queen Elizabeth’s favorite court jester, and the most popular comedic actor of his time. He is credited as the creator of the “stage yokel” and was known for his ability to improvise dialogue in and around a script. His jests were thought to have an aggressive and subversive wit about them, ready to take on authority figures, even the queen. He was known for being the first jester to study natural fools and simpletons to add to character performance. He was also an experienced fencer, a decent singer, and a dancer. During performances it was said that he only needed to poke his head out from behind the curtain in order to make the audience laugh. He also policed the hecklers and caught them with a cutting rhyme if he found them to be disruptive. After the shows, he performed bawdy song-and-dance extra-theatrical pieces and enjoyed staying to match wits with the crowd. On top of all this he was also an accomplished playwright for the Queen’s Men, although none of his plays survived. Tarlton was immensely popular with both the court and the lower classes during his lifetime and his was genius was undisputed. His performances were thought to be inspiration for Shakespeare’s Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and the court jester Yorick in Hamlet.

Cutting Ball
Cutting Ball was a notorious cutpurse and thief of the Elizabethan age. He was the brother to Em Ball who was the mistress to Robert Greene. Greene was said to have employed Cutting Ball as a bodyguard at one time or another. Greene also wrote much about the London underworld, probably inspired by his time with Cutting Ball and Em. Cutting Ball was rumored to have been a friend of Shakespeare and Marlow as well.

Em Ball
Em Ball was a prostitute and most likely the sister of Cutting Ball. In history she is remembered as “a woman of a very bad reputation” and one of ill repute who is a footnote aside two famous men. Em Ball may have shared a home in Holywell Street in Shoreditch with Richard Tarlton at the end of his life (or he may have simply taken refuge with her when he fell ill) since that is where he died in 1588. She was also believed to be the mistress of Robert Greene and lived with him later in life. They are rumored to have a son named Fortunatus together.

Robert Dibdale
Dibdale was an English Catholic priest and eventually a martyr. He was born in Stratford-upon-Avon to a Catholic family. He went to Rome and then to college in France before returning to England. Immediately on his entry into the country he was arrested and imprisoned. Once released, he returned to France for his ordination. Using an alias, he became a chaplain in a private manor in Buckinghampshire until he was arrested again. Given the 1585 Act making it a capital offence to be an ordained Catholic priest in England, he was found guilty of treason and sentenced to be hung, drawn, and quartered. He and two other priests were beatified in 1987.

Henry Evans
Evans was a scrivener (clerk or scribe) and a theatrical producer. He was responsible for the Children of the Chapel and the Children of Paul’s at Blackfriars and then the head of the Earl of Oxford’s Boys at court. He is described by historians as “unsavory” and “devious”.

Huffing Kate
A real figure as far as accounts that appear in the published Tarlton’s Jests: And News Out of Purgatory, but there is little other evidence about her life at the time.

Blacke Davie
A real figure as far as accounts that appear in the published Tarlton’s Jests: And News Out of Purgatory, where he appears in a sword fight with the famous Tarlton, but there is little other evidence about his life at the time.

Note: This is a guest posting from Annaliese McSweeney, dramaturg for our Summer MainStage production of Her Majesty’s Will.

Welcome to the inauspicious beginnings of our young hero and someday poet and playwright of great renown – William Shakespeare! Although very little is known about the specifics and inner-workings of William’s early life, for a young man of his social status, it is surprising that what is known about him has survived.

William was born to John and Mary Shakespeare in April 1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire. John, although of yeoman status, had somehow managed to marry above his station into one of the most prominent aristocratic families in Stratford. Despite both families’ Catholic backgrounds, the Shakespeares were a respectable heritage with strong ambitions. John rose to become a valued civil servant in the community. In addition to being a glover, or glove-maker, John owned a shop that traded in wool and farm produce. He may also have dabbled in being a money-lender, a dubious enough position at the time. By the time William was born he already owned multiple properties in town and had held a couple of elected positions in the town including Ale-taster (Stratford had a prestigious reputation for its ale) and chamberlain (a position which had daily meetings, was responsible for clearing town streets, and heard local petitions). In 1565, John was elected as alderman, a position that would have come with free education for the children in the local grammar school. It is assumed that William learned to read and write in Latin, and that he would have studied the Greek and Latin playwrights and poets at the local King’s New School in Stratford. John’s ambitions continued to climb, and he was soon appointed as high bailiff (or mayor) in 1568, then to his highest held position of chief alderman in 1571. William would have been expected to follow in his father’s honorable (although restrictively local) footsteps. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, John applied for a coat-of-arms to formally give the family the credibility he had worked hard to achieve. The application, a costly endeavor for such a man, was denied, perhaps because of the family’s Catholic connections.

William Shakespeare’s believed birthplace

Unfortunately, John Shakespeare’s prosperity was not long-lived. The 1570s brought trouble for the Shakespeare family. By the end of the decade, John Shakespeare had fallen behind on his taxes, stopped paying the poor relief, and needed to mortgage Mary’s inherited estate. The boys were removed from school to help with the family businesses and so came the early end of William’s formal education. John was fined for missing court dates and church. There is no clear evidence as to what caused this sudden downward spiral from a promising career as a dedicated civil servant, although many scholars focus on an inability to manage finances.

Things got worse for the Shakespeares when 18-year-old William announced that 26-year-old Anne Hathaway was three months pregnant with his child. This news would have been devastating to the family name. A hasty marriage was arranged with special permission from the Bishop of Worchester and William and Anne were married on November 27, 1582. Susanna was born in May the following year. Two years later, twins Hamnet and Judith were born. It is assumed that William helped his father’s business during this time, or possibly took up secondary work as a teacher or lawyer. William was rumored to have acted as a money-lender when he relocated to London, so perhaps it is during this time that he learned the specifics of that trade. Since there is no evidence that has survived to indicate what he may have been doing to support his young family, many theories have cropped up to fill in the blanks of William’s life. One thing does seem to be consistent, though. It seems pretty clear that Anne and William’s relationship was strained and distant, despite its scandalous beginnings. John’s and the family’s fortunes continued to flounder and by 1586, John was removed from the board of alderman due to a lack of attendance. By 1592, John was stripped of all his civic duties.

Anne Hathaway’s family cottage

The years between 1585 and 1592, and where our play Her Majesty’s Will finds the young William, have been known as “lost years” in Shakespeare’s history. There are no official records between when his children were baptized and his first writing credits in London, therefore it is a time of incredible speculation by scholars. How does a barely-educated poor, struggling man from Stratford-upon-Avon become one of the greatest writers of the English language? Scholars though the ages have tried to crack the mystery of how Shakespeare established a successful career when he arrived in London. Common theories include: a local legend about poaching deer from Sir Thomas Lucy’s property and a quick escape from his punishment (complete with a revenge ballad); that he headed to London to be a horse attendant at the theatres; or that he was working as a lawyer or soldier based on the knowledge he displays of these professions in his plays. There is no evidence to support any of these claims, however. The most plausible speculations, with a little (but still not a lot) of evidence are the following three theories: 1. That Shakespeare was a teacher during this time, either in a private household or as a schoolmaster (this story was recounted by the son of one of his fellow actors in the Lord Chamberlain’s Men) which would have allowed him time to study and work on his craft; 2. That Shakespeare was recruited by a travelling troupe of actors that came through Stratford (most likely the Queen’s Men who came to town short one actor in 1587); or 3. A recently-developed economic theory that suggests far from struggling, John Shakespeare’s business was tied into shady dealings, so William Shakespeare left Stratford to be his father’s agent of trade in the booming city of London (this would have been how Shakespeare could have supported himself with his artistic pursuits). In any case, it is reasonable to assume that whatever the reason Shakespeare left Stratford and his family behind, it must have been fairly compelling, since he gave up a fairly respectable lifestyle for one with the lowly rabble of the theatre profession.

By 1592, the first recorded indication that Shakespeare was in London writing plays appeared. Robert Greene made reference to him (and a dig or two) in his last written work, referring to Shakespeare as an “upstart cow” reaching above his rank by trying to match the university-educated men around this time. At the time there was the belief that a man could not change his own destiny, but that artistry needed to be fostered by a patron or developed through formal education. By 1594, however, Shakespeare’s plays were being produced regularly and exclusively by the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, a company in which Shakespeare would later be a managing partner. The company would go on to become the King’s Men after Queen Elizabeth’s death.

As for his personal life, much examination and speculation has come from studying his sonnets and his plays – from what actually happened during those lost years to whether or not Shakespeare had a homosexual relationship and even whether or not Shakespeare penned all his own works. While many theories exist, little evidence supports one over the other. For example, while many scholars point to the sonnets and extensive cross-dressing themes in his plays as explicit proof of Shakespeare’s support for homoerotic relationships, others point out a different understanding of sexuality in the Elizabethan age in which the homosexual identity did not exist, separating act from identity in a way that is foreign to modern understanding. So, the best we can do to understand and interpret Shakespeare’s heart of hearts is to guess.

It seems almost silly to try to sum up the legacy of Shakespeare’s plays for he is widely regarded as one of, if not the, greatest writer of the English language. His total body of work consists of approximately 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two narrative poems, and a few other verses. He produced most of his work over the 24 years between 1589 and 1613. Perhaps the greatest achievement in his parent’s eyes was that he was able to secure a coat-of-arms for his father before John passed away.

Shakespeare’s literary legacy changed the approach to Elizabethan theatre. He is credited with expanding the potential of characterization, plot, language and genre. He used the same devices that were popular in the age of Elizabethan theatre, not only to move the plot, but also to explore the complete range of emotions and conflict within his characters. He wrote plays that attempted to capture human emotion in a way that transcended his time and place. Shakespeare wrote within the conventional style of the day, but his innovative adaptations to language and flow changed the experience of the play, so much so, that critics have questioned how someone with such little education could revolutionize the genre. Without any evidence to the contrary, the vast majority of scholars do give him the appropriate credit. As his contemporary poet and dramatist, Ben Jonson, put it, he “was not of an age, but for all time.” David Blixt points out early in his book that theatre breathes life again into the playwright and characters every time the play is picked up and performed. Because of this, William Shakespeare continues to live a very long and celebrated life.

Note:Julia Santha, Assistant Director for our upcoming production of A Wrinkle in Time, prepared this biography of author Madeleine L’Engle.

Madeleine L’Engle, beloved author of A Wrinkle in Time and more than 60 other books, librarian, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, was born on November 29, 1918. L’Engle spent her early childhood in busy New York City, preferring to write stories and poetry in school rather than focus on her lessons. Although her teachers pushed her to conform, from a young age L’Engle was compelled to write and follow inspiration, rather than the rules of others—somewhat like our protagonist, Meg Murry. At the age of 12, L’Engle and her family moved to the French Alps, where she attended an English boarding school. There, her love for writing was first formally encouraged. Years later, armed with journals full of stories and a mature sense of confidence, L’Engle enrolled in Smith College, where she studied English, focusing on classics and her creative writing. After graduating with honors, L’Engle returned to New York, to work as an actress and continue her writing.

In her early years, while living in a studio apartment in Greenwich Village and supporting herself on an actor’s salary, L’Engle published her first two books, met her husband, fellow actor Hugh Franklin, and gave birth to her first daughter. Eventually, the family moved to Connecticut, settling in a tiny farm village. There, L’Engle enjoyed solitude and the village community. She and Hugh had two more children and together the family revitalized an old general store that became a humming village center. It was during these years that L’Engle wrote A Wrinkle in Time. At first, L’Engle struggled to have her novel published, as editors warned her that it was too mature for children, but not quite a book for adults. But L’Engle would not change her work, declaring that it was a novel for and about people, adults and children alike. Wrinkle was finally published in 1962 and garnered immediate success, winning the prestigious Newbery Award “for the most distinguished contribution to American Literature for children” in 1963.

After years in the peaceful countryside, L’Engle and her family returned to New York. There, L’Engle became the writer-in-residence and librarian at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine, where she would maintain an open office for 30 years. L’Engle continued writing, lecturing, and serving as a librarian and mentor in her community until her death in 2007.

“A book, too, can be a star, ‘explosive material, capable of stirring up fresh life endlessly,’ a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe.” –Newbery Award Acceptance Speech: The Expanding Universe (Aug 1963)

Note:This is a guest posting from emeritus ensemble member James Sie, adaptor for our Winter MainStage production ofA Wrinkle in Time, returning to Lifeline for the first time since 1999.

Let’s do a little time traveling, shall we?

A Wrinkle in Time, Lifeline Theatre, 1990

Twenty-six years ago, Lifeline embarked on our first stage adaptation of Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. It’s hard to believe that more than a quarter of a century separates the current production from that one, and yet here I am, tinkering with a new draft of the script while simultaneously reliving the excitement of the first one.

In 1990, I was not yet thirty. Lifeline itself was relatively young. We were just getting into the groove of the whole adaptation process, inspired by the successes of previous adaptations by Christina Calvit (ensemble member adept), and our shared love of literature. A Wrinkle in Time was my first MainStage adaptation, and I was grateful for the opportunity. I was also Lifeline’s marketing director, and I remember running to Kinko’s every week with graph paper and X-acto knife in hand, to literally cut and paste up the ads for the Friday newspapers. I was pretty narrowly-focused, then: Chicago and Chicago theater were my world, and that was fine by me. It was a different time. I had hair. Lots of it.

James Sie with Madeleine L’Engle.

Twenty-six years is a long time.

Press photo for A Wrinkle in Time, Lifeline Theatre, 2017

Now, I am returning to Wrinkle, a bit wrinkled myself, and so much has changed. Dropboxed scripts instead of dot-matrix print-outs. The internet for research, so if I need an Arabic proverb I can run a search, instead of trying to find someone to talk to me at the United Arab Emirates Consulate. I now read (digitally) those sections of the paper I used to toss aside in search of the theater section. Skype production meetings. Spellcheck. I still cannot get the pagination in Microsoft Word to work quite right, but I have a feeling that’s not technology’s fault.

Rehearsing some tessering for the 2017 production.

My own perspective has changed, too. The art of adaptation is largely one of selection and enhancement, and I find I am focusing on different parts of the book. Certain lines from the book that I had cut out before now jump out at me with a new urgency. I had once identified with Meg, the misunderstood, perpetually angry hero and heart of the book; now, I have a teenager of my own. I know only too well the intense emotional maelstroms middle grade students experience on the daily and I ache for Meg and her alienation, but with the empathy of a parent, and that informs my script choices. When Meg is sent off alone on a mission, it is not just her father that cries out, “She’s only a child!”

And yet.

What has not changed, what has endured, is Madeleine L’Engle’s message of love, of personal strength and uniqueness, of the need to stand together to battle against the powers of darkness. These themes resonate as strongly now as they did at the book’s publication in 1962. Back then, we were deep into the Cold War; the threat of Communism made Americans feel like we were on the brink of some kind of annihilation. Today, many experience that same pervading disquiet, the same sense of a world badly askew. L’Engle’s book feels more timely than ever. In working with director Elise Kauzlaric to rediscover these deeper resonances, L’Engle’s words have proven to be both a comfort and an inspiration. In her universes, love and kindness may be temporarily extinguished, but they are just the qualities that will save us in the end. “May the right prevail!” Mrs. Who declares in the book, and her words give me hope that they will. I am as grateful to be working on this production as I was to be working on its maiden voyage all those wrinkles ago.

Note: This is a guest posting from Patrick Runfeldt, dramaturg for our Winter MainStage production of Midnight Cowboy.

It may seem a bit of a stretch to insinuate that Joe Buck has any measure of “true” cowboy in him. He’s certainly not the strapping presence of John Wayne (or even the Marlboro man) who is embedded in the very fabric of our culture as the gun-toting, swearing, and quaintly charming hero of the West in film and folklore. Frankly, he can’t even live up to the rhinestone-studded shoes of his contemporaries from the saloons of Texas to the nightclubs of New York. Digging a little deeper, however, Joe’s situation — young, homeless, and unemployed — meets the exact criteria of the cowhands of early ranching times.

Before the great innovations of turn-of-the-century America and the migration of railroad routes farther and farther West, the best way to transport cattle was via miles and miles of herding. Most cattle ranchers of early pioneering times were either quick to give the practice up or were consolidated into larger cattle ranch holdings by wealthy landowners (or even the occasional businessman from the East). As a result, the practice of actually herding, defending, and moving the cattle across the vast plains was handed down the line to a ragtag band of youthful, unemployed vagabonds who could hardly afford to scrape together the money for a decent meal, let alone a six-shooter or a pair of fine leather boots. These uneducated, rough and tumble men were a melting pot of recent immigrants (Latino, Chinese, etc.) and poor white farmworkers whose immigrant families had initially come West seeking fortune in gold mining or other quick wealth pursuits. Many were orphans, due to disease, poor crops, or the general exposure to the elements that shortened lifespans in the pre-industrial West. Few believed in the “American Dream” that was being formulated, fought for, or defended prior to and after the Civil War. All of them knew how to drink, heavily. In the shadows of mountain passes, these young men passed long winters defending miles of cattle from wild animal attacks, thieves (even though they were known to steal a certain number of cattle for themselves), and the dangers of the natural terrain. Though they tried several times to unionize, these cow hands were poorly paid, prone to lawlessness and robbery (they had to get their money from somewhere, right?), and sometimes just didn’t know enough to know of a better life.

In short, they were much like Joe and Ratso.

The myth surrounding these downtrodden workers began to develop as their own labors died out. In the late 1880s, a promoter named William Frederick Cody began to travel and ride under the name “Buffalo Bill” in a sideshow revue that began to attract huge crowds throughout the rapidly industrializing eastern half of the United States. Oftentimes, Buffalo Bill would recruit unemployed cow hands who had a trick or two up their sleeve, dress them up, and then craft a show and story out of their garish costumes (think rhinestones, spurs, and the elaborate designs you’d see in a 50s TV show). Dime novels quickly picked up on the popularity and TV shows and movies would follow from the 50s through the present.

Enter Joe Buck. As Joe grew up in the 40s and 50s, his formative ideas of masculinity, power, and romance would have all been formulated and shaped by the cowboy show. Sprinkle in the larger-than-life memories of his would-be father figure, Woodsy Niles, and it’s safe to say that Joe probably always wanted to be a cowboy. The problem, however, is that he never tended cattle. He never even saw much of the open plains. He lived in an era of paved roads, beauty parlors, and overly large Cadillacs, and his childhood was spent anywhere but outdoors. Several times throughout the play, Joe is faced with a dangerous situation and can only be protected by enacting his own method of “cowboy” justice. When he fails to play upon his cowboy persona to live a life of lawlessness, he falls further and further into squalor, distrust, and chaos. By the time he is able to reconnect with his image on a pedestal (the literal pedestal onstage) of Woodsy Niles, it might be too little too late. No matter what, the end result (real or imagined) had already been written for him. A cowboy he very well may be…

Note: This is a guest posting from Patrick Runfeldt, dramaturg for our Winter MainStage production of Midnight Cowboy.

A cursory glance at the themes of Chris Hainsworth‘s adaptation of Midnight Cowboy reveals a striking outlier not much present in James Leo Herlihy’s novel: religious promises of prosperity. Certainly Joe Buck attends Sunday school at the behest of his grandmother Sally and attempts to be vaguely involved in “church”, but the significance never reaches the forefront of the novel. Not so with Hainsworth’s adaptation, wherein the audience is guided and shadowed by the mysterious Mr. O’Daniel. He is a half-crazy street “preacher” mixed with just the right amount of foreshadowing present in predecessors like a Greek chorus or griot. O’Daniel provides Joe’s character with both diagnosis and decree at various moment, cycling back through a series of emotional peaks and valleys throughout Joe’s checkered past. The overall narrative, however, never strays from a clear trajectory of the “prosperity gospel” preached by such famous televangelists as Joel Osteen and his predecessor Oral Roberts. Perhaps an examination of Roberts’ wildly successful and ultimately troubled personal history will allow for further understanding of the implications of Hainsworth’s thematic move and, ultimately, what it all means for Joe in the play.

Oral Roberts was one of the most famous and celebrated televangelists of the 1950s through the 1980s and his career spanned near to his death in 2009. His wealth so far exceeded his needs that he opened an entire university dedicated to his philosophies, with the entire campus decorated in real flakes of gold. The dark corners hidden behind the TV lights, however, always ate away at Oral; his entire empire was founded on donations from mostly poor Americans who were convinced that what he was preaching would turn their economic and personal lives around. His philosophy (better known as the aforementioned “prosperity gospel”) has inspired the model for megachurches and religious profiteers for more than half a century now: “Plant a seed—meaning, send a check—and God will reward you with health, wealth, and happiness”. Oral’s own life (despite his material prosperity) was undercut by his distance from his family, his religious flock (several lawsuits and audits tarnished his ministry organization and his university), and, in his final hours, his God. Oral’s oldest son committed suicide in his 30s due to unrelenting pressure from his father regarding his queer sexuality and desire to remain away from the television spotlight. His oldest daughter died in a plane crash that he mysteriously half-predicted. He was left with his son Richard as the most likely (and least likable) air to his televangelist throne. Always in the spotlight from a young age, Richard became infatuated with fame, which ultimately led to a long history of drug abuse, public infidelity, and the near ruin of his father’s religious empire. Mired in audits, lawsuits, and negative speculation, Oral died reciting a series of his own sermons and prophecies, based on what he had heard from his God. The echo of his ministry lives on in the slowly crumbling university that he left behind, bathed in tarnished gold.

In Hainsworth’s adaptation, O’Daniel approaches Joe with a proposition similar to Oral’s prosperity gospel, but instead of money he asks for Joe’s physical self and his time. Having loosely grown up with an image of the Everyman Jesus in his mind, Joe is quick to listen, but slow to understand the implications of giving his own possessions away to obtain some kind of happiness (or, at least, the illusion of happiness). O’Daniel keeps reappearing throughout the drama representing both a corner of Joe’s conscience and the false promises of such a philosophy. It is less a question of whether Joe would have been less moribund if he had chosen O’Daniel as his companion instead of Ratso and more a series of landmarks pointing out how Joe’s selflessness ultimately fails him over time. Joe is profoundly lonely because he cannot figure out what he wants (as Perry so aptly noted), not for a lack of trying to relate to others. When he gives up Anastasia, Sally, and Bobby respectively so that they can try to make the most of their lives, he sacrifices his own desires. At the end of the drama, Joe is lonely not because he cannot articulate what he wants, but because what he wants and whom he wants to be with have been put out of his reach by forces beyond his control.

Note: This is a guest posting from Annaliese McSweeney, dramaturg for our Fall MainStage production of Miss Buncle’s Book.

This article about the poetry and artists’ lifestyle in the 1930s provides insight into the inspiration for the character, Countess Marina Pavlova, in Christina Calvit’s adaptation ofMiss Buncle’s Book. Christina created this character to help Miss Buncle on her journey through the play. The character Christina drew is a mix of the figures highlighted below.

Bright Young Things

In the late 1920s in London, a social group emerged that was referred to as the “Bright Young Things”. Described as “attention-seeking, flamboyant, decadent, rebellious, promiscuous, irresponsible, outrageous and glamorous,” they were the original celebrity personalities – defined in the eyes of the public by their raucous parties, bohemian outlooks, public practical jokes and overall extravagance. The movement started with upper class women hosting famous and boisterous treasure hunts all around town. These events attracted young men who, eager to join in the action, provided mobility for the group with their new cars and extended the events to day trips into the countryside. The larger the group, the more elaborate the parties became for the London socialites, the more raucous the nightlife they represented, and the more attention they got from the public. These Bright Young People were from the generation that was too young to fight in World War I but were reacting to the changing circumstances of the waning aristocracy and the rapidly changing social landscape in Britain. The group had an odd mix of the upper class socialites and the hard-core bohemian fringe, both choosing to live lives of leisure, which created an environment for an unusual number of writers, as well as other artists, some more dedicated to and more lasting in their art than others. Within their troupe, they encouraged and supported each other’s projects, particularly in their writing careers. They would publicize each other’s books and some of the higher-class members opened up their homes as meeting spaces. The more affluent members even financially supported writers’ groups in order to feel a greater sense of participation in the movement. By 1931, interest from the press and the public’s infatuation with the group began to wane since the excesses they were displaying became distasteful in the face of worldwide depression; however, some of their number did go on to become quite successful in the artist domain.

Bright Young Things at one of the infamous dress-up parties.

Here are some of the women who published poetry from the group or profited from writing about the Bright Young Things.

Edith Sitwell – Born into an aristocratic family, she and her two younger brothers had a significant impact on the art world of the 1920s. Influenced by the French symbolist movement, her greatest contribution to the modernist movement was as an editor, but she wrote her own poetry as well. Her work was stylized with a theatrical and grand use of emblems and diction. Robert K Martin explained:

Although she always remained a poet committed to the exploration of sound, she came to use sound patterns as an element in the construction of deep philosophic poems that reflect on her time and on man’s condition. [… She should be remembered as] an angry chronicler of social injustice, as a poet who has found forms adequate to the atomic age and its horrors, and as a foremost poet of love. Her work displays enormous range of subject and of form.

In her social life, she became “passionately attached” to the homosexual Russian painter Pavel Tchelitchew, and she never married. She was a strong advocate of London’s poetic circle, to whom she was unfailingly generous and helpful, even so far as to opening her home up as a meeting place for local poets.

Sylvia Townsend Warner – Educated at home and with a strong musical and literary background, she was first introduced to the writing world by being instrumental in getting Theodore Powys’ novels published. She was primarily a novelist and poet, known for changing the way unmarried women were represented in fiction at the time, but also a talented musicologist, a diarist and letter-writer, a political journalist, an occasional translator and biographer, and a prolific short-story writer. She published a joint collection of poems with Valentine Ackland, her lover in 1933. By 1935, Sylvia and Valentine became committed members of the Communist Party, attending meetings, fund-raising and contributing to left-wing journals.

Nancy Mitford – The eldest of the six legendary Mitford sisters, Nancy was a novelist, biographer, and journalist known for her novels on the upper class social scene and her life in England and France. She began writing in 1929 and her first novel was published in 1931, despite having no prior formal writing training. Her novel was a semi-autobiographical piece about her time as part of the Bright Young Things. During the war, she worked at a bookstore, which became a meeting place for the London literary society and her friends. Her online biography says, “She hid her deepest feelings behind a sparkling flow of jokes and witty turns of phrase, and was the star of any gathering.” Although this quote suggests she was unhappy in her personal life, she found great success later in life as a writer – publishing multiple novels including some worldwide bestsellers.

Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova is considered one of the greatest women in Russian literature and a political and poetic ideal. Having joined the poetry group Acmeists in St. Petersburg, she married the group’s leader in 1910. After a few years, the two of them moved to Paris to immerse themselves in the culture and gain experiences of the poetic lifestyle abroad. Upon returning to Russia as a leader of Acmeism in her own right, she praised the virtues of lucid, carefully crafted verse in reaction to the vagueness of the Symbolist style that dominated the Russian literary scene of the period. To the group’s ideals, Akhmatova added her own elegant colloquialisms and psychological sophistication that demonstrated full control of the subtle vocabulary of modern intimacies and romance. In her writing, a small detail could and was meant to evoke a whole gamut of emotions. Her first collections were published as early as 1912, but in 1917 her primary themes of tragic love morphed to include the civic, patriotic, and religious motifs of the changing Russian society; however, she did not sacrifice her artistic conscience and personal intensity in developing her style. Her personal life was rocky and hindered by the political landscape in Russia at the time. In 1921, her ex-husband was executed under the new regime, and during the 1930s her son and her third husband were imprisoned while a close friend died in a concentration camp. She didn’t publish any poetry between 1921 and 1940 as there was an unofficial ban on her poetry by the government. During this time she took on other forms of literary work – translations, as well as literary criticism. Throughout her career, while she faced plenty of government opposition, she was beloved by the Russian people because she refused to abandon her country in their difficult political times.

Note: As an introduction to the world of Silverstream, this narrative account of the characters and the Society they represent has been created by production dramaturg, Annaliese McSweeney, inspired by the characters created by D. E. Stevenson in Miss Buncle’s Book and Christina Calvit’s adaptation of those characters for the stage production.

Oh dear! Barbara Buncle realized she hadn’t heard a word Sarah Walker was saying. She had let her mind wander once more. But it is just so interesting to watch the people around her! She really should pay better attention to Sarah since she is always there when you need her. She hardly ever overlooks Barbara, and never judges her for her shabby clothes. Sarah’s lack of concern for things like that is probably what has kept Sarah on the outside of the social circles of the likes of Mrs. Featherstone Hogg and Mrs. Carter, but none of that really matters to Sarah, which is what Barbara loves about her. While Sarah was the kindest woman you could ever meet, her stories about her sweet little twins and her good-hearted husband couldn’t keep Miss Buncle’s attention like watching the hustle and bustle of Silverstream society in Mrs. Featherstone Hogg’s drawing room.

Speaking of, Barbara’s eyes catch the flashy host of this afternoon’s tea. As the richest lady in town, Mrs. Featherstone Hogg regularly hosts an afternoon tea party with a poetry reading in her home to help improve the lives of those around her, if only she could serve better coffee! Considered “new money” and filled with ideas of her own self-importance, she is constantly trying to impress the other wealthy neighbors and to assert her position of influence in the town. She does not speak much to Barbara, of course, because she is such an unimportant person, but when she does, Barbara could not help feeling it was good of Mrs. Featherstone Hogg to bother to speak to her at all. Mr. Featherstone Hogg is more tolerable, but has no problem letting his wife run the show; after all, it is easier than fighting with her. The town only ever takes notice of him as Mrs. Featherstone Hogg’s husband, not a person in his own right.

Miss Buncle’s thoughts wander to Colonel Weatherhead who is talking to his neighbor, Mrs. Dorthea Bold. Since he retired from the army, he can spend his days as he wishes, often at teatime with other members of the landed gentry. He is gallant and jocular and the ladies appreciate his social mannerisms. A kind man at heart, he is accustomed to helping and serving others when needed, but he also enjoys a good fight with the plants in his garden. Colonel Weatherhead often helps Mrs. Dorthea Bold deal with pesky workmen who don’t take a woman seriously. Widowed and living in her grand home alone, she is always bright and cheery and despite the workmen, tremendously independent. Barbara really must make plans to have Dorthea over for tea soon.

Mrs. Bulmer gets up to make her excuses to leave, a typical occurrence. Every time, Margaret heads home early to put the children down for their nap before Stephen tries to work on his book. Living a privileged life, Stephen has dedicated his days to writing the Life of Henry the Fourth, but everyone knows he does so very seriously. In fact, Margaret has to be careful not to cross him. That is very difficult, however, when he is ever so touchy and sometimes the neighbors do notice (although they always pretend not to). Needless to say, the atmosphere at the Bulmer’s home is a little tense, but Barbara has never heard Margaret complain because she loves her darling children so much, which is more important than her own peace of mind.

Mrs. Goldsmith interrupts Barbara’s thoughts by offering her a fresh scone. The town baker, Mrs. Goldsmith knows each member’s routine and what type of bread they prefer, and Barbara wonders what other secrets she knows. Not invited as a guest, Mrs. Goldsmith is working this afternoon and has only stopped here to drop off the fresh baked goods.

Before she leaves, Mrs. Goldsmith stops to say hello to Mr. Dick, Mr. Fortunum, and Mr. Durnet. Barbara thinks to herself that they look a bit out of place in this setting, staying off to their own, and talking among themselves on their brief break before heading back to their normal lives and jobs. Mr. Dick runs the local guesthouse at which Mr. Fortunum has staying and Mr. Durnet is working class, but old and hard of hearing and everyone just puts up with him.

Barbara notices a few new faces in the room. That young woman next to Mrs. Carter must be her granddaughter; although Barbara thought she was much younger by the way Mrs. Carter had talked about her. Mrs. Carter is from an old Society family in Silverstream with quite a bit of influence in London, even if she is an old stick in the mud. Of an older generation with charm and manners, she is regular entertainer and friendly with most of the ladies of the town. Having been neighbors for a long time, Barbara and Mrs. Carter get along just fine, although her options of the “youth” these days are a bit old fashioned for Barbara’s tastes. Perhaps living her young granddaughter will change that.

Her granddaughter, Barbara seems to remember was her name was Sally, seems interesting. On the surface she looks spunky and free-spirited. According to her grandmother, Sally has been living in town (London) with her father who is an influential diplomat and traveling the world entertaining her father’s acquaintances. Sally has no problem speaking her mind, as Barbara has already seen her speak up excitedly in response to prim grandmother. Barbara wonders if she could be the breath of fresh air Silverstream needs.

Vivian Greensleeves is talking to another new face, the new vicar, Ernest Hathaway. Barbara has heard some interesting rumors about Ernest. The only son of a wealthy investor, he has come to town to follow in the footsteps of his uncle, who is also a religious man. An intellectual, generous, and good-hearted man, Ernest seems to be settling into caring for this town and tending to its flock well. With a privileged background and high quality tastes, no wonder he has attracted the attention of Mrs. Greensleeves. She is pretty woman who enjoys pretty things. Originally from town, Barbara suspects she only moved to the country because she is cutting back since her husband’s death. In any case, this new scheme of hers will be interesting to watch unfold.

In another corner, Isabella Snowdon is sitting with Miss King and Miss Pretty. Miss Snowdon is the righteous and proud daughter of another higher-class family still living at home. Quick to talk of her own accomplishments, she is not always the best listener. Miss King and Miss Pretty are two unmarried orphans, who have intertwined their lives to look after one another. They are regulars about town together and Barbara quite enjoys their company. They compliment each other well – Miss King is bold, forward, and confident, whereas Miss pretty is docile and tends to “lean” on others. They have a nice quiet life, with just enough to be comfortable without worry, although Barbara wonders if Silverstream is a little too dull for them.

Barbara’s attention snaps back to Sarah talking about her husband, who is the town doctor. John is a kind, well-respected Scotsman, with no patience for fake illnesses. Like her husband, Sarah is intelligent enough to help anyone, even her husband, work through the most difficult problems, although she would never talk about it to anyone else. Sarah is a genuine and transparent person, which is a rare thing in Silverstream, indeed! Just as Sarah asks Barbara her opinion on the subject, and Barbara is about to be caught out for not paying attention, Mrs. Featherstone Hogg calls the ladies and gentlemen in her drawing room to attention. It was time to begin the poetry reading. This class of people is expected to be refined and cultured, and if Mrs. Featherstone Hogg needs to be the one to make sure that happens, she is willing to take on that task, if only to prove that she can do it.